by Tim Severin
With the wind directly aft, our hope was that we could keep ahead of the chasing Danes long enough to evade them in the darkness or, better, meet friendly vessels from Knut's war fleet who would scare them off. Until then every member of our crew watched intently, trying to gage whether the gap between ourselves and the pursing longships was increasing or diminishing. Occasionally we glanced across at our consort, who copied our every manouevre and stratagem because it was vital that the two of us kept together. For when — not if — the Danes caught up with us, at least the odds would be no worse than three to two against us.
The Gods, whether Wendish or the Aesir, seemed to smile on us. The wind, which had continued to be erratic, picked up strength. This helped the older vessels because, in a strong wind, there was less difference in their speed against the newer Danish ships, and the more ground we covered the better were our chances of meeting Knut's fleet. So we kept up full sail, even though we could all hear the mast foot grinding in its wooden socket. The wind raised a succession of fast-moving swells which swept beneath us, heaving up the ancient hulls and making them twist and groan. The swell turned into long breaking waves, the spray flew back from the bows and as our craft began to swoop and sway the stress on the elderly hulls became more and more obvious.
That was when disaster struck. Perhaps it was the absence of ballast, or it might have been the clumsiness of her inexperienced crew which brought our companion, the second Jomsviking drakkar, to make a fatal error. The accident happened so suddenly that we did not know whether a main sheet snapped or the mast step slipped on the keelson, or whether it was just plain bad fortune that a larger swell lifted up our accompanying drakkar's stern at the very moment she dipped her bow to leeward and skidded sideways on the forward rush of water. The drakkar abruptly buried her nose in the back of a wave, tripped and slewed, and water began to pour into her open hull. Without her ballast to hold her steady, her sail was driving her forward at full tilt, and the inrush of water plunged her even further downwards. She ran herself underwater. One moment she was sailing at full speed on the surface, the next moment she was on her side, bow down and half submerged. The halt was so abrupt that most of her crew were flung headlong into the water, while the remainder were left clinging onto the stern deck, which was all that was left above the surface of the sea.
From the Danes came a roar of triumph and there were frantic signals from the leading longship, clearly the commander of their squadron. In answer the vessel nearest to the stricken drakkar swiftly dropped sail, put out oars and began to row, bearing down on her disabled victim. As our own boat fled on, we looked back, unnerved, and saw the Danes reach our comrades. They began spearing them like salmon trapped in a net, stabbing repeatedly downward on the swimmers. Those who were not massacred, had already drowned, pulled down by the weight of their mail. There would be no survivors.
Only Thrand seemed unmoved by the calamity. He stood on the aft deck, gaunt and intense, the helm still in his hand, his face showing no emotion as he kept his attention fixed on the set of our sail, the strength and direction of the wind and the balance of our vessel. Just twice he glanced back over his shoulder at the slaughter in our wake and then — without warning — he suddenly pushed across the helm so that our drakkar heeled over and came hard on the wind, heading for the distant shore. He gave no explanation for the sudden change of course, and once again the abruptness of the manoeuvre caught the Danes by surprise. We gained a few precious boat lengths on them. Along the oar benches we looked at one another, wondering what Thrand had in mind. Not one of us challenged his decision. From the moment he had seized the helm, he became our unquestioned leader. I swivelled in my seat and looked forward over the bows. Ahead the Sjaelland coast stretched away on either hand, low and flat without any sign of a harbour or a channel into which we might escape. Yet Thrand was aiming our vessel straight towards the distant shore as if he had a plan to save us.
The captains of the two Danish ships must have been equally perplexed because the furious pace of their pursuit slackened while they conferred, shouting across the gap between their vessels. Then they decided that, whatever we intended, they could still overhaul us before we reached the land. I saw their white bow waves surge up again and the slant of their masts increase as the two ships hardened up against the wind and resumed the chase. Aboard our drakkar the entire crew except for five sail handlers had scrambled to the windward side to improve the vessel's trim. Even the greenest of our recruits now knew that our lives depended on how well we coaxed our venerable vessel to her best performance.
Slowly and inexorably the Danish ships gained on us, while in the far distance the third of their vessels, having finished off our comrades, hoisted sail and set out to join in the hunt. We could only sit and watch the advancing enemy, and note how the best of their warriors had assembled in the bows, ready to hurl javelins at our helmsman the moment they were in range, hoping to strike him down and cripple our flight.
One of the Wends reached under his oar bench, pulled out his chain-mail shirt and began to tug it over his head.
'That'll drown you if we capsize,' warned his neighbour. 'Didn't you see what happened with our other drakkar?'
'Makes no difference,' the Wend replied. 'I don't know how to swim.'
The tension mounted as we watched the shoreline rush closer. It still appeared featureless, a low, sandy, yellow beach backed by dunes and sea grass. The place was uninhabited. There were no fishing skiffs drawn up on the beach, no houses, nothing — only gulls circling hungrily, squabbling amongst themselves over a shoal of sprats.
'No one lives here. It's too barren,' said the Sjaellander who had previously sailed this coast. 'There are only shallows, mud-banks and the occasional sand spit.'
The Danes very nearly caught us. Their leading ship was close enough for the first javelins to be thrown, and an arrow or two whizzed overhead, but without any harm. Judging his moment, Thrand again pushed over the rudder bar and altered course abruptly. Our drakkar swerved, and like two greyhounds which overshoot the hare as it jinks, the Danish vessels overreached and had to check their onward rush before they picked up the hunt again. Thrand had managed his manoeuvre well. The leading Danish ship cut across the bows of its companion and for a few moments there was confusion as they adjusted sails to avoid a collision.
By then Thrand had turned our drakkar back onto her original course and once again we were heading straight for the shore at full pace. He was staring forward intently, ignoring the chasing ships behind him as we sped towards the strand. We were already in the outer surf before I understood what he intended. Ahead of us a long outer bank of sand ran parallel to the beach itself. Waves were breaking across the ridge of the sandbank, washing into the shallow lagoon which lay on the far side.
'We're going to smash to pieces when she hits,' muttered the man seated next to me. 'At this speed she'll burst her planks like a barrel loses staves when the hoops let go.'
'We've no choice,' I answered. 'It's either that or be run down by the longships.'
Our course did seem suicidal. In the last fifty paces approaching the sandbar our drakkar was picked up by each wave and flung forward bodily. We heard the surf hissing all around us. Our bellying sail continued to drive the vessel onward, the pace never slackening, until our progress had a wild, lurching motion. When the water shallowed and the waves became steeper, I saw Thrand suddenly snatch out the bar from the rudder. A moment later the rudder blade, projecting below our keel, struck the sand beneath us and the rudder head swung forward. Now we were completely out of control, without any steering. A sudden scraping shock ran through the hull as the keel hit the ridge of the sandbar. Then came a deeper hissing sound as the keel ploughed on through the sand, and we felt the hull scrape on the sandbank beneath our feet. The impact snapped the mast. It toppled forward, taking the sail with it and knocking the foredeck man into the water. Luckily he grabbed the side of the ship as he fell and managed to hang on, dangling t
here until he could heave himself back aboard. For a moment the drakkar floundered on the flat crest of the sandbank, her mast lying over the side, sail dragging in the water. But the sheer weight of her headlong rush had carried her to the crest of the submerged barrier, and a moment later a fortunate wave broke at just the right instant and washed her over the sandbar. With a grinding, slithering wrench our vessel scraped into the lagoon, more of a wreck than a ship.
The pursuing Danes promptly put up their helms and swerved away. Their captains had seen how close we had come to complete destruction. 'Reckon their keels draw maybe a span more water than we do,' commented one of our sailors. 'Reckless to try the bar and risk such fine new ships as theirs, not like our ramshackle old hull.'
'She did us well, didn't she?' enquired one of our landsmen. 'Yes' answered the sailor. 'For now.'
'What do you mean?' the man asked, but after a moment's thought he added, 'we're trapped, aren't we?'
Before anyone could reply, Thrand called for our attention. He stood on the stern deck looking down at us as our crippled vessel floated gently on the lagoon. After the hustle and panic of the chase everything had gone so quiet that he barely had to raise his voice. 'Brothers of the felag,' he began, 'now is the time we honour our oath to our fellowship. Even now our enemies are patrolling the sandbank, searching for a channel where they can safely enter the lagoon. When they find it, they will advance on us and we must prepare to fight and, if the Gods so decide, die as Jomsvikings.'
We had a respite before the Danes came at us again. We spent the interval cutting away the wreckage of the mast and disposing of the sail, and the tallest of our men waded ashore to collect large stones where a small stream washed into the lagoon and had exposed the bedrock. Then we put our drakkar in fighting trim, the decks cleared fore and aft, our sea chests arranged to make a fighting platform, and every man armed and wearing his byrnie and knowing his battle station. Thrand himself took up position once again on the bow platform, where the extra height of the upswept bow would give him best advantage. I went to join him, but he gently pushed me back. 'No,' he said, 'I need men here who are battle-tried,' and he beckoned to a Gothlander to join him. I was puzzled because the man seemed slightly mad. While we had been readying the ship for battle, he had stayed off to one side by himself, muttering and laughing into his beard, then suddenly scowling as if he saw an imaginary demon.
'Thorgils, there is something more important you must do,' Thrand said quietly. He was unwinding a cloth which had been tied around his waist like a sash. 'Go aft to the weathervane,' he continued. 'Remove the vane from its staff and in its place put this.' He handed me the cloth. The fabric was a dirty white, old and frayed. 'Go on,' Thrand said sharply, 'Hurry. It is Odinn's banner. It flew when we met Earl Haakon.'
Then I knew. Thrand had told me about the banner when I was his pupil in Iceland, but he had not mentioned that he was speaking from personal experience. Odinn's flag bears no emblem. But in battle all those who truly believe in the All-Father can read their fate upon it, for they see the figure of Odinn's bird, the raven, upon the cloth. If the raven struts and spreads its wings, then victory is assured. When it lowers its head and mopes, defeat is due. As I fastened the cloth to its staff, I tried my hardest to see the raven sign. But I could detect nothing, only a few creases and ancient stains on the fabric.
The banner hung limp from the staff, for the wind had died completely. I glanced up at the sky. It was the calm before a storm. Far to the north black clouds were gathering and the sky had an ominous, heavy overcast. In the distance I saw the flicker of a lightning strike and much later heard the faint and distant echo of thunder. Thor, not Odinn, seemed to be the God of that day.
I had barely lashed the banner in place when the Danes appeared, rowing along the length of the lagoon. They must have found a safe entry channel through the sandbar. Seeing that we made no move to escape and were helpless, they paused deliberately to lower their masts for fighting action. Then they set course to approach us, one from each side, forcing us to divide our defence. But to carry out the manoeuvre they had to row, and this cancelled out their advantage in numbers because a third of their men stayed seated as oarsmen. Also they failed to anticipate how well we had prepared. Their first over-confident approach was met with a hail of the stones and rocks we had gathered, which caught them completely off guard. The Danes could respond only with a few arrows and thrown spears which did little harm, while our barrage of well-directed missiles sent three of their men sprawling on top of their comrades at the oars. Our second barrage was even better aimed and the oarsmen on both Danish ships hurriedly backed water as their captains ordered a temporary withdrawal while they reassessed the situation. It was then that I heard a strange, wild howling burst out. Looking round to where Thrand stood on the foredeck, I saw that the Gothlander had thrown off his helmet and removed his byrnie. He was now standing on the foredeck, naked from the waist and baying like a wild animal as he faced the enemy. He was a hulking, hairy-chested man and his pelt of body hair made him look a gross animal or a troll. He was raving and grimacing, now leaping up on the top rail and dancing in derision as he hurled insults at the enemy, then jumping down to the deck and capering back and forth and waving his war axe so wildly that I thought he would accidentally strike Thrand, who stood beside him. Eventually the berserker quietened down, but then picked up his shield and began biting its top edge furiously.
The savage sight made our foes even more cautious and for their second attack they took their time. They circled our ancient drakkar like a pair of wolves despatching a lame stag. In unison they darted in, one from each side, and then quickly pulled back after the warriors on their bow platforms had thrown a javelin or two and drawn our response of stones and rocks. Three or four times they launched these brief attacks until they saw that our supply of missiles was exhausted, then they came again, this time to close and board us.
I was standing in the waist of our drakkar, facing the starboard side so all I saw was the onslaught from that direction. It was terrifying. Four heavily armed Danes stood in the bows, ready to leap down on us as their vessel struck us amidships. They were big men, and made even bigger by the fact that they had the advantage of height and towered over us. Remembering our war instruction, I stood upon a sea chest and overlapped my shield with the Wend beside me on my left, while the man on my right did the same for me, though it was difficult to find secure footing on the uneven platform. We tried to slant our spears upward, hoping to impale our enemies as they leaped down upon our deck, but our awkward stance made the shield wall ragged and unstable, and the spear points wavered. As it turned out, our preparations were ineffectual. We were braced for the shock of the oncoming bows when, behind us, the second Danish ship rammed our vessel amidships, and our drakkar gave a sudden lurch so that we stumbled and slipped, and our shields separated, leaving wide gaps between them. If our enemies had been alert they could have burst through the gaps, but instead they misjudged. The first of the Danes jumped for our vessel too soon, and only his right foot landed on the edge of our drakkar. He stood there momentarily off balance, and I had the presence of mind to step forward and thrust the metal rim of my shield in his face, so that he overbalanced backwards and fell into the sea. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a spear point come from behind me and pass over my left shoulder to thrust neatly into the unprotected groin of the second Danish boarder. The Dane doubled up in pain and grasped the spear shaft. 'Like sticking boar in a forest,' said my companion the Wend with a satisfied grin, as he wrenched the weapon free. He had little time to gloat any further. The Danish longship was well handled. Their oarsmen were already swinging the vessel so she lay alongside us and the rest of their fighting men could board. A moment later there was a thud as the two ships came together and there was a yelling, stampeding rush as our enemies leaped into our ship.
If the Danes had expected an easy victory, they were quickly disillusioned. The Jomsvikings may have been inept
sailors, but they were dogged fighters. We held our own, against odds of two to one, and the first Danish onslaught was met with skill and discipline. We remembered our training and we fought as brothers. Shoulder to shoulder with the unknown Wend, I deliberately jabbed my spear point into the shield of the next Dane to charge us, and his onward rush drove the weapon deep into the wood. Then I twisted on the spear shaft so the shield was forced aside. At that instant the Wend stepped forward nimbly with his axe and struck the unprotected Dane at the base of the neck, felling him as neatly as an ox in a slaughterhouse. I heard the Wend give a grunt of satisfaction. I tugged my spear to retrieve it, but the weapon was stuck fast. I abandoned it, as I had been trained to do, and stepped back into line, reaching for the battleaxe that hung by my left shoulder. On all sides men were shouting and roaring, and there was the constant thud of blows and the ring of metal striking metal. Over the clamour I heard the shout of the Danish captain calling on his men to fall back and regroup. Suddenly the enemy were at arm's length, backing away from us and then scrambling aboard their longship, which was then pushed clear and drifted free.
In the breathing space which followed I turned to see what had happened behind us. Here, too, the initial Danish attack had been beaten off. Several bodies lay on the deck of the other vessel, which had also pushed away from us. Our own losses had been minimal. Half a dozen wounded and one man dead. The wounded were slumped on the deck and their sea chests, moaning in pain.
'Close up! Stand fast! There'll be another attack,' came Thrand's shout. He was still on the foredeck, the shield on his left arm splintered and battered, and a bloodied battleaxe held loosely in his right hand. Instantly recognisable, he alone of all the Jomsvikings had chosen to wear the old-fashioned battle helmet with its owl-like eye guards, while the rest of us wore the armoury's conical helmets. Thrand's antiquated war gear reminded me of our time-honoured battle standard and I squinted aft at Odinn's banner. The flag was now flapping and snapping in the wind. In the heat of battle I had failed to notice that the leading edge of the storm was now upon us. The sky was black from horizon to horizon. Gusts of wind tore the surface of the sea. I felt the old drakkar swing as the wind buffeted her ancient hull. We were drifting, all three ships, across the surface of the lagoon and towards the shallows. I also caught a glimpse of the third Danish longship. She was arriving with fresh men aboard and soon the odds would be three to one. I knew then that we had no hope. I glanced again at Odinn's banner, but still saw only the plain white cloth slatting in the gathering gale.
